And So It All Began (Gilbert/Marianne)(Past)

[Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt]

People were known to hate all kinds of weather; from rain to sunshine to snow, there was always a reason. Gilbert however, loved all types of weather....usually. this day though, he wasn’t a big fan of the rain. He liked it well enough when he could curl up in his comfortable beanbag chair with his laptop for company and a nice cold beer; but today, as far as he was concerned, the rain could go bother someone else. If anyone were to inquire about this change in attitude, he'd tell them to keep their noses out of his business. Those that knew him though would understand it was because he actually had to be out in the storm, getting drenched.

There was only one reason he was getting wet, and that was because hus car had decided to quit working at the end of the road. The only thing he could really be thankful for was that the woman who hired him lived on this street. A part of Gilbert was wistful, these were the sort of houses people dream of living; unlike his one bedroom apartment. It wouldn't crush his spirit if he got stranded here. With a sigh, Gilbert could only tighten his grip on his toolkit and make sure his head was under his hood as he trudged down the street.

There had been a flashing above him every few minutes that was followed by a crash of thunder that sent animals further into shelter against the raging storm, but Gilbert wasn't as lucky. Chuckling darkly to himself, he considered that possibly he wasn’t as smart as an animal either. They were the ones that were safe and sound and dry, but then he would be too if he didn't need the money. He had taken on a part time job with a reputable cleaning company for extra cash since they had started giving him less jobs to do with the paper. He knew it was because the new boss didn’t like him and wanted him gone, but he was too proud to quit.

Walking up to the front door, he pulled his coat in father around him and looked up at the entirety of the house. It was huge, much bigger than he was used to. From the outside, it looked like his entire apartment could fit in this lady’s living room. Blinking, Gilbert could only sigh as a drop of water slid its way down his forehead. This just wasn’t his night. At least it would be better tomorrow; this emergency job at least would be decent. Reaching up, he rang the doorbell and waited. And all the while, the storm raged on.

[Marianne de Rothestein]

Tick tock, the clock went and chimed, announcing the eve of the hour. Four o'clock, and the depression of the weather made it as though it was past nine. The gloomy summer rain bore darkened messages, and with its' ill luck, it caused a problem to her outlets. Marianne needed some swift action, because most of the appliances in her home relied on electronics and the computer.

While she was in her bathrobe, she called for closest available handyman--some stranger, claimed to be certified, online. Marianne was the slightest cautious, but this was an emergency, and she would pay extra to inject some sense to a person. As long as they don't rat out any strange information to the media, there should not be a problem. In any case, she won't make it possible for this stranger anyhow. Marianne's area of expertise was keeping prim and proper at all times. There would be nothing interesting to report.

She changed from her silken attire to something more suitable for guests. A couple of important government representatives want to come over for a small dinner, and she wanted to ensure that they shall be graciously welcomed. Marianne smoothed out her skirt and then slipped on her black heels--the tolerable sort of shoes, thank goodness. She would not dare wear anything pinchy in the comfort of her own home.

The lights flickered once more as Marianne ambled down her hallway. The halls were grand, finely decorated, with hung paintings that had the same frozen expression for centuries. Her pace was brisk and swift, as always, and when she heard the doorbell, she made a beeline for the foyer of her home. By the time she got to her foyer, she noticed that a maid had opened the door for a man to come in.

Marianne took a few cautious steps down the twin staircase that curved around and rolled on the trail of the entrance. It was though she was a princess, walking down the stairs that were adorned with a maroon carpet that stretched from the second storey to the first. In short, she probably did look like a princess in a castle. The foyer was marbeled with a pinkish hue for the floor. The room had a warm, golden glow from the hanging chandelier above, the crystal glimmering for all it is worth. The entire interior decor was to resemble a French palace-a -suitable to her tastes of culture.

After taking a long enough glance at the stranger, she continued down the red carpet. Like royalty, Marianne walked over to the entrance with a tall stature. A little woman, she was, but she was as formidable and high as a fortress.

With her hand over the other, Marianne greeted the man with a small smile. "You must be Mister Rothstein?" She indicated that he was soaking wet, and felt a bit of pity for him for going through so much trouble. She supposed that a little extra pay shall suffice as compensation.

"Please, do come in. I am Marianne, a pleasure." She extended her hand out to shake his hand. When she met his eyes, she noticed that his eyes were blood red. All of that, combined with his pale features, made her realize that he was an albino. It made no difference to her, but it was rare to find such genetics.

Before he could say more, Marianne resumed, "As I mentioned in the description prior to calling you, there is a problem with the electrical units in my home. It is affecting my computers. I will need this to be done by thirty three minutes, if that is possible."

[Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt]

As Gilbert first stepped into the house, he had noticed it wasn’t much different than he had imagined. Though that didn’t say much as all he had imagined it was big and fancy. The marble seem to glow lightly with the light, seeming to be warm and welcoming with the pinkish tones. Not normally a fan of too much pink, this seemed to work for the house though. His carmine eyes landed on the chandelier, having never actually seen one before, he was amazed at it. The light that shone through the crystals fractured, leaving wonderful little splashes of color that delighted his eyes. Ordinarily, he didn’t t think it would suit, but it somehow did. His vision moved from the wall to the maroon carpet and had to be impressed. These things that he never would have imagined going together fit to make a warm, welcoming environment. His searching finally came to a stop as he had to remember how to breathe.

Standing there in a lovely outfit that his mind couldn’t even begin to describe, she had to be the one that hired him. If he were honest and not trying to uphold a professional demeanor right now, he could have admitted that for the famous Helen of Troy had to look close to this for wars to be fought over her. As she walked down those stairs, he could see the haughty way she carried herself. She knew she had look and how to use them. In this case it was probably a good thing he wasn’t usually swayed by a pretty face and a quick shake of a hip, or whatever trick she tried to pull. No doubt this was the type to complain about his work and try to scrimp. He hoped he was wrong, but he wouldn’t be taken by surprise. It was these type of people that usually found the most wrong with him based on his eye color alone, and while he did his best to ignore it, he had gotten good with his slights to where they wouldn’t notice, but those were only for if he was insulted first.

“You must be Mister Rothstein?”

A quick nod of his head indicated that he was, but he could tell she had more to say before he would take his turn. He didn’t like to interrupt, and he had a feeling that she hated to be interrupted. He didn’t want her breathing down his neck while he was trying to work. He shook her hand and remembered her name, he would remember this one and remember what how he needed to act with this one if there should ever been an occasion he would be called here again; he doubted it though, it was as clean as a whistle.

“As I mentioned in the description prior to calling you, there is a problem with the electrical units in my home. It is affecting my computers. I will need this to be done by thirty three minutes, if that is possible."

Oh it was possible alright, with the storm out there, it was more than likely it was just small power surges and there really wouldn’t be much he could do about it, but he’d do his best for her if she thought it was a problem with her home specifically.

“More than likely, Marianne, it’s just small power surges thanks to this Gott awful storm, but I’ll do what I can. I’ll be out of your hair before you notice I’m here. Is there a certain room that’s more affected than the rest or is it just the whole house? If it’s the whole house, I’ll start at the power box..... And please, call me Gilbert, none of this Mister Rothstein crap. ”

He had already handed off his coat to the waiting maid and didn’t worry about where she took it, he’d get it back later even if he had to hunt for it.

[Marianne de Rothestein]

Marianne gave him a handshake, and suspected he did not expect the firmness of it. As a business woman, she took the solid handshake seriously, as it was one way to prove her confidence. Once that was done, she retracted the greeting of the touch and clasped her other wrist in open view. Closed, conservative, and distanced once more. Yet her hands were wet, and it felt cold. His hands were warm, and her palm seemed to miss it.

Mister Rothstein spoke in great length, to her surprise, leaving no room to reply until the conclusion. He ended with an... indelicate choice of words, and it made her wonder if this was merely his way of common speech. Perhaps it was meant for her to smile, but she did not. Instead, she nodded in acknowledgement.

This man, Gilbert, she could not help but judge him. It was a common practice for her to survey the individuals of her interactions. He was peculiar, and that much was clear. He dissuaded the use of pleasantry; he must be more of a common man than she thought. 'Mister' and 'Missus' was used often in this country, and his refusal to be regarded as such meant either humility or a sort of rebellious stance to archaic etiquette. That, or 'Mister Rothstein' sounded too silly for him.

A red stone in a garden of roses, she thought, for no other reason other than the poetry of the line itself.

"Gilbert, then," she corrected. "You have my gratitude. The library has the most trouble. You should begin there."

Her office was connected to the library, and the Gott awful storm had been toying with the electrical surges. The first outage made her lose a quarter of her work, and the second made her screen blink into blackness, reflecting her disbelief on the inky monitor. She would not trouble her guests with such fickle inconveniences.

By Marianne's leave, the maid closed the door and left with Gilbert's coat. The chill of the season died with the shut of the door, but the raindrops continued with its muffled symphony.

"Come, you must have made a long trip." Her eyes were kind, but it was not warm. Marianne gestured him to follow and then began leading him up the grand staircase. Although she stood near along side him as she spoke, she was always ready to take the first steps ahead of him. "Would you like some refreshments or food before you begin?"

If Marianne could, she would have smiled here at the end of this sentence. A smile, as in, a mandatory smile that served as a reminder of her friendliness. She was not rude, nor did her tone emit anything disagreeable, yet she had a habit of sounding and appearing distanced. Marianne was a formidable fortress, after all, meant for keeping out what is meant to be out; the only comforting signs were the rare roses that grew among the stone, the small florid-lipped smiles.

But she knew of some men and how they took to these cues. One smile would be one too much inviting; therefore Marianne scarcely smiled, as she measured her opportunities. Marianne did not know Gilbert enough to show him that rose, but she did favor him enough to give him a fragile purse of the lips. "If not you may ask any time during your service. I will be doing some work myself in the library, if that won't be a distraction to you."

[Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt]

As his current employer shook his hand, Gilbert thought nothing of the strong grip. It was the way it was in the business world, no matter how frail people may seem. Working as a journalist had taught him to never take things by their appearance, and he wasn't going to now. Though unaware he was being judged himself, he was doing the same thing to her. First impressions were everything after all and he tried to keep his down to earth when he was on the job and when he didn’t need to draw attention to himself. This woman seemed the opposite, like she had found a way to draw attention to herself even when silent. It was the Air about her that commanded attention. Even Gilbert had been draw to follow her path down the stairs without her uttering a sound. Her formality of speech proved it. She was used to being polite, always the businesswoman. He had to wonder what really was going on in that mind of hers. Was this posturing on purpose or accident? Was she really as haughty as she seemed? Did she eat lark's tongue and cringed when she saw a simple man's dish?

Knowing he would never find out the answers to these questions, he tried as best to close them behind a locked door in an attempt to keep himself from being distracted while he worked. Gilbert knew from past experiences with his chores and errands… once distracted, it would take him forever to get back to it.

"Gilbert, then, you have my gratitude. The library has the most trouble. You should begin there."

Then the library it would be. It was a decent place to start anyway if he had to start somewhere. Though this was the first time he had really met anyone who had a library in there house, much less be in one himself. He would remember this as something he knew he’d ever achieve, not that he really wanted a library really. He loved books of all kinds and was always willing to pick up a good one and spend an afternoon entrenched in other’s lives and adventures that was only meant for fun. He could imagine himself in the story, in the place of the hero committing a daring rescue to save the love interest; or sometimes he imagined the villain, and evil, dark laugh slipping past his lips as he watched his plans come to fruition. There were so many roles he could take up, it was a never-ending adventure.

“Good of place as any. And if I need to move to a different room, I’ll have you or one of the other people show me. “

“Come, you must have made a long trip. Would you like some refreshments or food before you begin?"

He saw how those eyes reacted, how it was all part of the mask she wore as a business woman, show kindness when needed and a harsh, icy facade when on a mission to get what she wanted. This was how it was with most high class business people he had met in this journalism work. Her offer might have been genuine, but it could have also been a product of her upbringing, how it was polite to offer guests food and drink as refreshments. It could have also been a test of hers, to see if he was as professional as he claimed. Well, he was no guest and she would see that the money would be well worth the amount of work he put in.

“Nein, I’ll be fine. Just show me the right direction and I’ll get your electrical problem figured out. No need to try to keep me entertained.”

Gilbert couldn’t help the slight smirk that graced his lips with this. If only he had a hat to tip, it would be the perfect sight, and he would laugh so hard at the ridiculously movement that was always seen to be straight out of a movie that it would ruin the whole professional atmosphere. He didn’t need her thinking he was slightly crazy, which he was, but it was nothing provable. Keeping a chuckle in his throat, he nodded to her as if to acknowledge the offer and would tell her no matter what his words said.

"If not you may ask any time during your service. I will be doing some work myself in the library, if that won't be a distraction to you."

“You won’t distract me; do a much work as you please. Though I’ll have to turn off the power to that room for a bit depending on what I find, I’ll let you know. Now, which way so I can get everything back up to working order as soon as I can?”

[Marianne de Rothestein]

Marianne pursed her lips and nodded. This was a very typical conversation, and she noted that she won't be getting much out from speaking to him. From there, she took on a professional period of silence as she lead him towards the library. Their steps clopped against the marble until they reached the area of fine wine carpet. Her hallway was a grand piece of the manor.

The finery of Renaissance paintings and their gilded frames were pleasing to look, but the real beauty was up ahead. They approached and were passing by the atrium of her home. Here, the sound of the rain was the loudest as it thrummed against the canopy. This open room glowed from the whiteness of that canopy, the whole room radiating with ambient light. There were potted plants, and lounging chairs of all sorts, offering a comfort to those who were passing by. A room this pleasing often attracted her butlers, maids, and gardeners to spend their leisure time here, but it was empty today. She felt a quiet longing to just sit and read a book, to look outside of the window and listen to the trickling waters of the rain.

Such was her experience when she first bought this home, when she resided here as her latibule. That was a season of quiet simplicity. The flowers apricated by the evening breeze, and her awareness to such trivial details marked a time when she had nothing to do. She had hated having nothing to do, and it was lonesome period. Yet now she felt nostalgic, wishing for a moment of just rest from all of this exhaustion. A cog in the wheel, a break in tradition--that was what she wanted, but did not want to admit. This reminded her of how she didn't wish to interact with anyone today, yet her responsibilities preceded her emotions. Her countenance dimmed after passing the atrium, its light no longer able to radiate the comely features and musings of her face. They passed by several rooms, all of which had closed doors save for the music room, its' door open ajar. She shut it, catching only a slivered glimpse of her golden harp.

The library was straight ahead before the hallway bifurcated into two paths. The tall oaken double doors marked this room's special importance. Marianne pushed the door open long enough for Mr. Rothstein to come in before closing it. Upon entry, there was a soft-pitched hum. Normally, there'd be someone in here cleaning, but all of the workers were getting the house primped up for the guests. Splendor was in the sheer decor of this room. It was elegant with an old, refined feel that encouraged studiousness. Marianne was a collector of books, and she could boast that she had read nearly all of the books in this expansive room. One could forget that this was merely a part of a single person's home. The ceiling-high arched window showcased how windy and rainy it was outside. There was a grumble of thunder outside, and that made Marianne frown.

"Troubling weather," she said.

With her hands clasped together on her lap, she gestured him to the outlet by the window. The closer they got, the louder the buzzing noises became.

"Here it is. If you need anything, I will be in the room." With that, Marianne walked away to let him do his duty. Perhaps she could start up writing those reports again. That suggestion exhausted her. She looked at the books instead. She ought to deserve a break once in a while, or so her therapist said. What to read, though? That was the question. Perhaps she should take a leap of faith and randomly choose a book, for that was probably going to be the most exciting happening today. She looked for the rolling library ladder, put one foot on the steps, thought about it for a second, and then ascended up.

[Gilbert Fredrick Beilschmidt]

Glad that they were walking along in silence, Gilbert was far from being quiet in his head. As his red eyes passed over many pictures and ensconced on the wall, he could only internally sigh. He had never figured out how people could afford to live like this, how they could even begin to feel like they were at home here, how they belonged here. It seemed too big, too daunting. But then again, he had grown up in a modest home with his parents. With a current apartment being a small studio, he really couldn't understand it.

A small part of him was jealous, and loudly so. Jealous of the fact that people could live in the lap of luxury while simple people like himself had to struggle to get by, living pay check to pay check, afraid of getting fired and losing their homes. It was bad enough his car had broken down and would be hard to fix. Most people considered it a Junker; but it was his car, his pride and joy, his baby. He would never trade it for anything though. Keeping another sigh internalized, he blinked as they were in front of the door to the library. Entering in, he was directed to an outlet with a highpitch buzzing coming from it. His hearing had always been good, so this was almost painful to him. But he had a job to do and he wuld do it, even if this one would give him a headache that would last most of the day.

“I’ll let you know, just go about your business as if I wasn’t here.”

Moving to start working, he pulled out his screwdriver from his belt, he started with undoing the cover plate and laid it aside. Pulling out the wiring, he got to work, careful of the electricity that was flowing though the wires. As he worked, he let his mind wander over everthing. Hopefully she’d let him use her phone to get his car towed, and hopefully this job would pay for him to fix whatever was wrong with it.

Keeping a professional demeanor, he put his screwdriver down and pulled out the volt tester to continue working, keeping an ear out for his employer if she were to talk with him, but otherwise, he ignored whatever she was talking about. He would keep an eye on her when he had a chance; he had heard the first step she took on the ladder, and he had never trusted the ladders in a library. It had always seemed like one risk, one misstep that could lead to a world of pain and potential disaster.